


Constant

by Cold_Gold_Heart



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi Shiori's Death, Gen, Happy birthday to Akashi!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cold_Gold_Heart/pseuds/Cold_Gold_Heart
Summary: According to his father, victory is constant. According to his mother, love is. After the death of his mother, both of these beliefs are put to the test.Will he ever find his constant?Or, Akashi Seijūrō does lose.





	Constant

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was _super rushed_ because I really wanted to get it done by Akashi's birthday. It was supposed to include the rest of the Generation of Miracles and Nijimura, but I think I'll need a lot of time to actually do that. Also, this was supposed to have a happy ending, but that changed a lot. 
> 
> Not beta read. Sorry for any errors!
> 
> Also, the Major Character Death was Shiori. Besides that, no one else dies.

“Victory is the only constant thing in an Akashi’s life,” his father said. “Nothing else. Don’t expect anything, except victory, to remain in your life.”

How did the little boy feel about these words? Nothing.

But _how did he feel_? Cold. Just like a normal boy did during dinner discussions with their fathers. Unlike normal boys, however, he didn’t look for protection from cold. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to lose to it—it was because warmth did nothing to lessen the cold. The food in front of him, the warm smile of his mother—the warmth they brought seemed to dissipate when his father looked down on him, as if there was something missing.

He didn’t want to hear what that something was. He just wanted to ignore the ways in which he may have failed. He wants to believe that he always wins. Yet, 17 years later, he remembers all that he’s lost.

*

“No matter what, you will never be alone, Seijūrō.” His mother uttered those words when he learned that the boy who had tried to befriend him only did so because he was obligated to do so. _“My father was supposed to work together with your father, but now they’re not going to, so my father said we don’t need to be friends anymore,”_ his schoolmate said. Seijūrō had accepted it. He was glad that _his_ father didn’t force him to befriend his colleagues’ children. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel hurt that the boy he thought was his friend didn’t truly want to be with him.

“And you’ll find friends who will always be there for you in the future.” His mother’s voice was as bright as her eyes. In her eyes was all the warmth that Seijūrō would ever need in his life.

However…

“You can’t always be there for me, Mother.” The little boy’s voice was as small as he was. “Father said that the only thing that is constant in an Akashi’s life is victory.”

There was a beat of silence, that was filled with his mother’s gentle smile. She took his hands, she shared her warmth with him. The silence turned to song, as she said, “But you are not only an Akashi. You are Seijūrō. You are a person. And for all people, love is constant. Not only through the lives, but even when they die.”

He was a child. Of course, he believed his mother. After all, his mother was the source of what seemed to be all the love in the world. When she tucked him into bed that night, he completely ignored how she didn’t disagree when he said that she wouldn’t always be there for him.

*

Years later, his mother is gone. All that’s left of her warmth is the incense. Its smell fills the room, and Seijūrō is sick of it. He wishes it were gone, gone, gone. He still remembers all she said about love and about how he would never be alone, but he feels as if he is far away from everyone. No one can accept him with open arms—not even himself. He tries not to cry, but the tears stream down his face, anyway. In the corner of his vision, his father is giving him a disapproving glance, although his eyes are tinted red. He moves toward his son and grips his shoulders, “We’ll have to keep you busy, Seijūrō”—and that was the most affection he received from his father at age eleven.  

Even when Seijūrō tries to work, he can’t seem to focus. His vision is blurry, and it’s clear that he can’t handle all of this on his own.

 _“If you’re so useless, I can take care of things.”_ The mocking tone comforts Seijūrō, and he lets a new part of himself handle his life. His little brother doesn’t cry. He is in control of everything. Somehow, his brutality is reassuring, and Seijūrō can always trust that his brother will handle everything with precise efficiency. However, what’s more important is how his little brother shows Seijūrō that his mother was right—he will never be alone. Of course, said brother scoffs at the idea of love being constant in one’s life. However, he says nothing whenever Seijūrō says that his love for him is definitely constant. (Although, once in a while, he will talk about how narcissistic that is.)

 _It’s nice_ , he thinks, _having a brother_.

*

Midorima Shintarō is an interesting boy, to say the least. He cares very much about fate, but he never depends on it. There is an aura of strength around him. All his actions have significant weight, but they never bring him down. He has an efficiency to his character that almost rivals his younger brother’s. Intelligent, proper and motivated—those are just some of the many words to describe Midorima. He first met him thanks to basketball, but the spark of friendship was ignited during their first shōgi match.

At first, Seijūrō thought it was coincidence. Eventually, he agreed with Midorima—it was fate. Seijūrō had been playing shōgi alone in the clubroom, waiting for practice to start, when Midorima entered, a pained expression on his face and fists clenched. Then again, that did seem to be Midorima’s default expression, although it seemed rather forced that moment. “Is there a problem, Midorima?”

“I lost my lucky item, nanodayo.” Midorima walked over to Seijūrō, each step measured and precise.

“I see.” Seijūrō put another piece forward, expecting Midorima to look around the room. Surprisingly, the boy walked towards him.

“My lucky item is a king, an ōshō.” There was a fierceness in Midorima’s eyes, as he looked directly into Seijūrō’s. It was as if he was issuing a challenge.

 _Well, that’s interesting_. “Please have a seat then.” Seijūrō gestured towards the vacant seat in front of him and started setting up the pieces. “Do you play?”

“Yes.” Left fist still clenched, Midorima sat down. “I will win the piece from you.”

“Oh, no.” Seijūrō picked the ōshō up and presented it to Midorima on an open palm. “You will need all the luck you can get if you are to defeat me.”

“Are you mocking me?” Something flashed in Midorima’s eyes.

“Of course not, Midorima.” The redhead, unable to contain his amusement, smiled. “I am lending this to you because I believe you will put up a worthy fight. Plus, I would hate for you to not put your best foot forward against me.”

Pushing his glasses up, Midorima sighed. “Fine, then.” After taking the ōshō, the game commenced. Halfway through, Seijūrō made a move to bait Midorima, who’s fist unclenched as he relaxed, and that was when Seijūrō noticed that there was something in his hand. _Of course_ , he smiled, _Midorima would never actually lose a lucky item_.

They had been playing for an hour, when Midorima noticed that it was almost time for practice. “May we continue the game when practice is over?”

“I’m afraid I have some matters to attend to at home right after practice. I think it would be alright if we just left all the pieces in place.”

Midorima nodded and stood up. “Alright, then. I look forward to our…”

“Friendship?” Seijūrō suggested. The smile was still stuck on his face, and he was having a difficult time getting rid of it.

“I suppose this is friendship. What would friendship entail?” At first, Seijūrō thinks it’s a joke, but one look at Midorima tells him that the green-haired boy is asking a serious question.

“I’m actually not so sure.” Midorima’s expression shifts to one of surprise. It was kind of sad that even people who didn’t know him very well expected him to know a lot. He knows his brother would say that it was too be expected. After all, they were intimidating, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“So, there are some things you don’t know.”

“There are many things I don’t know.” It felt strange to be admitting such a fact—even if it was the truth—out aloud. At the same time, it also felt nice to admit it. “My classmates have been randomly screaming, singing—actually, I have no idea what they’re doing, but they shout ‘Jaeger’ whenever they enter the classroom. Frankly, I don’t know what’s going on. Am I expected to do the same thing?”

“My classmates have been doing the same thing. It’s a reference to Shingeki no Kyojin.” Midorima pushed his glasses up with a sigh. “At least your class doesn’t sing the _entire_ opening. They become a little… intense during lunchtime. Their actions make no sense.”

“Your actions don’t either,” Seijūrō points out.

“If you followed Oha-Asa, you would realize that my actions are justi—”

“Oh, no, you are mistaken.” Seijūrō put his palms up. It was generally something the defeated did, but when he did it, it seemed to calm people down. It was as if he could control the world with these little actions. “Oha-Asa isn’t senseless. However, asking me for a shōgi piece that you already have in your left hand is.”

It is strangely delightful to see Midorima’s face redden.

“What was the point of doing that?” It is a perfectly innocent question that should have an innocent response, but Midorima seems even more embarrassed. “I’m quite sure that you didn’t simply forget that you had the object you needed to obtain in your own hand. Also, you are a very logical man—so I’m sure that you didn’t do this for no reason.”

“I—” Midorima sighs, looking everywhere but at Seijūrō. Then, his stiffens. “I heard that you’re very good at shōgi, and I wanted to play you.”

“Next time—” Seijūrō couldn’t believe there was a next time. “Just ask. I would never refuse a good opponent.”

Shōgi matches soon turned into heated discussions about strange books they had read or the stupid things their classmates said or anything, really.

Sometimes, Seijūrō just smiles and thinks of how his mother was right. Now, he has a brother _and_ a friend. All that was left was for them to remain constant. He had faith in both of them, and he was sure, that they would never let him down.

Or would they?

In the end, neither victory nor love were constant for he lost the love he used to have. All the light faded into darkness.

There would be _no one_ to pull him out.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes [here](https://justaquarterdead.tumblr.com/post/168717588544/constant-notes).


End file.
